PS 

'■.36 




A Boy's 

ook of Rhym 



"^2\ 




CLINTON 




Class _ JS173Z 
Bonk - .B& 






Copyright N°_ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2010 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/boysbookofrhyme01scol 



A Boy's Book of Rhyme 



Second Edition Enlarged 



A Boy's Book of Rhyme 




CLINTON 



SCOLLARD 



Clinton, New York 

GEORGE WILLIAM BROWNING 

1906 



Copyright 1896 by Copeland and Day 
Copyright 1906 by Clinton Scollard 



1 LIB3ARY of CONGRESS; 

Two Conies Received 
MAR 6 190/ 
j._ Sopyrlght Entry 

CLASS f\ XXc„ Re, 

/ " 



COPY B. / 



7? 

.34 






CONTENTS 



PAGE 
THE POP-CORN MAN 7 

GOING TO SEA 8 

FISHING 9 

THE LITTLE BROWN WREN 10 

THE SEARCH 11 

LITTLE MR. BY-AND-BY 12 

DUCKS 13 

THE YOUNG CRUSOE 14 

THE GHOST 15 

THE ARCHER 17 

HI-SPY 18 

THE DRUMMER 19 

THE HAY-MOW 20 

FRAIDIE-CAT 21 

AN ARABIAN NIGHT 22 

THE SAILOR 23 

SONG IN SUMMER 24 

THE FAIRY PREACHER 25 

THE GATES OF DROWSIE LAND 26 

THE CASTLE-BOY 27 

WHISPERERS 28 

THE KITE 29 

THE CARPENTER-BIRD 30 

WILLIE I-WONT-PLAY 31 

THE SWING 32 

THE LAND OF LAY-ME-DOWN 33 

THE BONFIRE 34 

ROBIN 35 

THE SLED 36 

THE SNOW-FORT 37 

THE SNOW-MAN 38 

THE SNOW-HOUSE 39 

VACATION-TIME 41 

THE CROW 43 

A SPRING MEETING 44 

THE LITTLE EGYPTIAN BOY 45 



CONTENTS . 

CONTINUED 

PAGE 

BOBOLINK 47 

THE PUSSY-CAT BIRD 49 

MADAM ROBIN'S AFTERNOON TEA 50 

THE RAG-MAN 52 

THE BOLDIE DOG 53 

POM-POM-PULLAWAY 54 

A BOY'S SONG IN SPRING 56 

THE SQUIRREL 57 

FAIRY FOOD 58 

THE FAIRY BALL 59 

A RAIN SONG 60 

GOSSIPS 61 

THE SHEEP IN THE SKY 62 

THE BLUE JAY 63 

WHY CHERRIES GROW 64 

DON 65 

BUTTERFLY 66 

RAIN 67 

THE TRUMPETER 68 

IN THE AUGUST TWILIGHT 69 

THE WHISTLER 70 

MORNING SONG 71 

BROOK SONG 72 

THRUSH SONG 73 

THE DANCERS 74 

WHERE ARE THE FAIRIES GONE? 75 

THE LITTLE SHADOW FOLK 76 

BY THE YULE-LOG 78 

DOWN IN THE STRAWBERRY BED 79 

LADY HOLLYHOCK 81 

FLOWERS OF SLEEP 82 



A Boy's Book of Rhyme 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



© 



THE POP -CORN MAN 

here's a queer little man lives down the street 
Where two of the broadest highways meet, 
In a queer little house that 's half of it glass, 
With windows open to all who pass, 
And a low little roof that 's nearly flat, 
And a chimney as black as Papa's best hat. 
Oh, the house is built on this funny plan 
Because it 's the home of the pop-corn man ! 

How does he sleep, if he sleeps at all ? 

He must roll up like a rubber ball, 

Or like a squirrel, and store himself 

All huddly-cuddly under the shelf. 

If he wanted to stretch he 'd scarce have space 

In his bare little, spare little, square little place. 

He seems like a rat cooped up in a can, 

This brisk little, frisk little pop-corn man ! 

I know he 's wise by the way he looks, 

For he 's just like the men I 've seen in books, 

With his hair worn off, and his squinty eyes. 

And his wrinkles, too — oh, I know he's wise! 

And then just think of the way he makes 

The corn all jump into snowy flakes, 

With a " pop ! pop ! pop ! " in his covered pan, 

This queer little, clear little pop-corn man ! 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



x 



GOING TO SEA 

used to say, " When I 'm a man, 

A jolly sailor I will be; 
I '11 have my own boat, if I can ; 

At least I know I '11 go to sea. " 

And often to Papa I cried, 

Playing- at ship with plank or pail, 
: If this were but the ocean wide, 

Oh, how I 'd sail and sail and sail ! " 

But now no more of boats for me ! 

I 've had another better plan 
Since Papa let me go to sea 

With Ben, the big brown sailor-man. 

At first I thought it very nice ; 
You should have heard me laugh and shout ; 
But when we tipped so once or twice 
I felt all turning inside out. 

I 'd rather be our nursemaid, Ann, 
Who has to hear the baby bawl, 

Than be a wretched sailor-man, 
And have no inside left at all ! 



A BOY'S HOOK OF RHYMK 



FISHING 



o 



nce I went to fish with Phil, 
Up beside the old red mill, 
Where the perch and pickerel 
In their water-houses dwell. 
I crawled out upon a log, — 
Thought I 'd sit there like a frog ; 
But it acted just as mean 
As a pony when it's "green," 
For it "bucked," and I fell right 
In, and yelled with all my might. 

( !ame a man a-running down, 
Bushy-bearded, big and brown, 
Leaned, and grabbed my roundabout 
By the belt, and pulled me out, 
Dripping,— wetter than a pike, 
Shivery and "sousled-like." 

Then he stood and slapped his knee, 
Laughed, and shouted, " Sakes o' me! 
Queerest fish I ever see .' " 



10 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



© 



THE LITTLE BROWN WREN 

here 's a little brown wren that has built in our tree, 
And she's scarcely as big as a big bumble-bee; 
She has hollowed a house in the heart of a limb, 
And made the walls tidy and made the floor trim 
With the down of the crow's-foot, with tow, and 

with straw, 
The cosiest dwelling that ever you saw. 

This little brown wren has the brightest of eyes, 

And a foot of a very diminutive size; 

Her tail is as trig as the sail of a ship ; 

She 's demure, though she walks with a hop and a 

skip ; 
And her voice — but a flute were more fit than a pen 
To tell of the voice of the little brown wren. 

One morning Sir Sparrow came sauntering by, 
And cast on the wren's house an envious eye ; 
With a strut of bravado and toss of his head, 
I '11 put in my claim here," the bold fellow said ; 
So straightway he mounted on impudent wing, 
And entered the door without pausing to ring. 

An instant — and swiftly that feathery knight, 
All towsled and tumbled, in terror took flight, 
While there by the door on her favorite perch, 
As neat as a lady just starting for church, 
With this song on her lips, "He will not call again 
Unless he is asked," sat the little brown wren. 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 11 



X 



THE SEARCH 

save wandered long and far 

Under sun and under star. 
Up and down and to and fro, 
Through the grass and through the snow. 
Seeking for the secret dell 
Where the happy fairies dwell. 

Often those I met would say, 
" You must search beyond the day ; " 
If a hill my steps defied. 
I must "look the other side ; " 
If a stream ran swift before, 
I must "try the further shore. " 

On I sped ; 'twas still the same, 
And I never nearer came. 
. Ne'er I saw a guide-post stand 
Pointing thus : 8@~ To Fairy Land. 
Although many seemed to know. 
None the hidden way would show. 

I believe it's all a joke, 
And there are no fairy-folk ! 



12 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



n 



LITTLE MR. BY-AND-BY 

ittle Mr. By-and-By, 
You will mark him by his cry, 
And the way he loiters when 
Called again and yet again, 
Glum if he must leave his play, 
Though all time be holiday. 

Little Mr. By-and-By, 
Eyes cast down and mouth awry ! 
In the mountains of the moon 
He is known as Pretty Soon ; 
And he 's cousin to Don't Care, 
As no doubt } t ou 're well aware. 

Little Mr. By-and-By 
Always has a fretful "Why?" 
When he 's asked to come or go, 
Like his sister — Susan Slow. 
Hope we'll never — you nor I — 
Be like Mr. By-and-By ! 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 13 



DUCKS 

iw^HEN first the grass grows green in spring, 
VjyAnd from bare boughs the robins sing, 

Before the orioles come back, 

I hear the ducks go, " Quack ! quack ! nuack I " 

They paddle round and dive and float 
Just where I like to sail my boat, 
And when I run, from school set free, 
They make such funny eyes at me. 

They never cry, nor fuss, nor fret, 
About the springtime rain and wet, 
And have no need of sheltering roofs 
Because they all wear "waterproofs." 



14 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



Q 



THE YOUNG CRUSOE 

ow that the sweet flowers sleep 

Where the snow is drifted deep, 

And the chill winds roar and flout 

So I may not play without, 

In an ancient rocking-chair 

O'er fanciful seas I fare, 

And gleefully rise and dip 

With the waves in my mimic ship, 

Till my bark is wrecked on the strand 

Of a lonely ocean land. 

And then, like a workman skilled, 
Out of books a hut I build 
In the nook behind the couch, 
W T here I lurk with gun and pouch, 
That no hungry savage there 
May surprise me unaware. 
If I spy my playmate Jim 
Out I rush and capture him, 
Overjoyed in heart to find 
A Friday to suit my mind. 

All around our isle we stray 
And hunt through the golden day ; 
But when day's bright eye is shut 
Then we seek my sheltered hut, 
And sleep with our guns in hand 
Until morning greets the land. 
And at last from the lonely shore, 
Just as Crusoe did of yore, 
I sail o'er the windy main, 
And arrive at home again. 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 15 



o 



THE GHOST 

ne summer day not long- ago, 
'Twas in vacation-time I know. 
We took our dinners. Jack and I, — 
Some sugar-cookies and some pie, — 
And with our hickory crossbows stout 
We bravely for the woods set out. 
The sun was hot. Jack's face was red 
As any turkey-gobbler's head, 
And he said mine was like a piece 
Of flannel with a coat of grease. 
But we both laughed, and didn't care, 
And let the wind blow through our hair, 
And gave a shout, and ran until 
We reached the bottom of the hill. 
Just where the trees begin to throw 
Their shadows on the grass below ; 
And there we played at Indian ; then 
We ate awhile, and played again. 

And by and by a path we found 

That through the forest wound and wound. 

Jack said it was an Indian trail, 

But I said " Cows ! " Then Jack grew pale, 

Got awful mad, and wouldn't budge 

Until I 'd hollered " pshaw ! " and "fudge ! " 

A dozen times or so ; and then 

We wandered on and on again, 

Till suddenly a flash of light 

Before us gleamed on something; white, 



16 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 

And we both felt cold shivers run 
Clear down our spines. It wasn't fun ! 
"A ghost ! " I cried. The wind swept by ; 
We thought we heard a mournful sigh, 
And fled as though, with wild appeals, 
A score of ghosts were at our heels. 

But courage soon returned, and Jack 

Declared aloud, " I 'm going back ! " 

So back we crept, still half afraid, 

Through strips of shine and plots of shade, 

Until before us suddenly 

There stood, as plain as plain could be, 

Our dreadful ghost — a, white birch tree ! 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 17 



m 



THE ARCHER 

hen May has come, and all around 
The dandelions dot the ground, 
Then out into the woods I go, 
And take my arrows and my bow. 

Of hickory my bow is made. 
Deep in a darksome forest glade 
Cut from a sapling slim and tall. 
And feathered are my arrows all. 

And sometimes 1 am Robin Hood, 
That olden archer brave and good ; 
And sometimes I'm an Indian sly, 
Who waits to shoot the passers-by. 

So up and down the woods I roam 
Till sunset bids me hurry home 
Before the pathway through the glen 
Is peopled by the shadow-men. 

And when at night my bow. unstrung, 
Is close beside my quiver hung. 
To bed I slip and slumber well, 
And dream that I am William Tell. 



18 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



o 



HI-SPY 

H, when Bob and I 

And Frank and Fred play Hi-Spy, 

Round and round the barn we run, 

Laugh and shout, — it 's such fun ! 

In and out and up and down, — 

Just the best old barn in town ! 

That 's when Bob and I 

And Frank and Fred play Hi-Spy ! 

From a corner in the mow 
To our glossy bossy-cow 
There 's a chute to slide the hay 
Where I hide myself away ; 
Wondering where I can be, 
Hoav they hunt and hunt for me ! 
That 's when Bob and I 
And Frank and Fred play Hi-Spy ! 

Loud I call, and off they go, 
Thinking I am far below ; 
Then I cry again, and now 
They declare I 'm in the mow, 
And yet where they can't see, 
So at last I 'm "in free ; " 
That 's when Bob and I 
And Frank and Fred play Hi-Spy ! 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 19 



c 



THE DRUMMER 

his morning, when I went to play 
Along the shady orchard way, 
I heard a merry rat-tat-too 
In branches where the breezes blew ; 
But long in vain I tried to see 
That tiny drummer in the tree. 

At last I saw his speckled coat. 

The sleek black velvet round his throat, 

And perched upon his cunning head 

A tufted little cap of red. 

I cried to him : " Where come you from ? 

And why do you so loudly drum ? " 

He perked his head and looked at me, 
But not an answering word said he. 
Then in a moment from my sight 
He darted like a ray of light. 

Were I a drummer, I 'd not run 
Unless I saw a big, big gun. 



20 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



THE HAY-MOW 

®hene'ek I rise at morning-song, 
And see great cloud-banks black and long, 
And hear the drum-sticks of the rain 
Beat softly on the window-pane, 
I know at ball I may not play, 
Nor wander down the meadow-way 
Where vines with juicy rubies grow, 
And like white wheels the daisies blow. 

But when my study-task is done, 
Out to the hay-mow I may run, 
And climb upon the rafters high 
Where round the nesting swallows fly, 
And twitter in their silly fear 
Because they think a robber near ; 
To be a robber 's not my plan, 
But play that I 'm a diver-man. 

The hills of hay, these are my sea, 
And seem like waves far under me ; 
Down, down I plunge with merry vim, 
Then swiftly to the shore I swim, 
And climb once more, and leap again 
Into the middle of the main ; 
It *s so much fun, that if I can 
Some da} r I '11 be a diver-man ! 



A BOYS BOOK OF RHYME 21 



X 



FRAIDIE-CAT 

shan't tell yon what 's his name: 
When we want to play a game, 
Always thinks that he'll be hart, 
Soil his jacket in the dirt, 
Tear his trousers, spoil his hat,— 
Fra idie-t '<•> t ! Fra idie-t 'a t '. 



Nothing of the boy in him ! 

" Dasn't " try to learn to swim ; 
Says a cow '11 hook ; if she 
Looks at him he'll climb a tree. 

" Scart " to death at bee or bat, — 
Fraidie-l '<>t ! Fraidie-Cat ! 

Claims the 're ghosts all snowy white 
Wandering around at night 
In the attic : would n't go 
There for anything, I know. 
B'lieve he 'd run if 3*011 said ''scat ! " 
Fraidie- Ca t ! Fraidie- Cat ! 



22 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



© 



AN ARABIAN NIGHT 

he broad land glows with bright July, 
And often when the day-beams fly, 
And all the golden stars look glad, 
Recalling tales of old Bagdad, 
I softly stroll through garden glooms 
Amid the fragrant summer blooms, 
And dream that I am wandering down 
The byways of that orient town. 

My Tigris is a stream that flows 
' Twixt bowers where blooms the crimson rose ; 
My boats are bubbles frail that glide 
Serenely down the starlit tide ; 
The nightingale that trills for me 
Is robin in the apple-tree ; 
The low wind-flutings from the firs 
Are strains of harps and dulcimers. 

The shrubs that bend in breezes bland 
Are slaves that bow at my command ; 
The arbor arched with tangled vine — 
This is my pillared palace fine ; 
The sentinels who guard the wall 
Are tiger-lilies slim and tall ; 
And over all I reign supreme, 
The Caliph of my orient dream. 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 23 



THE SAILOR 

©eyond the lawn, below the hill, 
Runs, rippling by, a merry rill 
That sings to me the sweetest tunes 
Through all the summer afternoons, 
For there I go to sail my boat 
Till evening shadows round me float. 



The stream I launch my craft upon 

Is both my Rhine and Amazon, 

And so I journey, quite at will. 

In Germany or in Brazil ; 

And oh, the scenes that form and shift 

As down the dancing tide I drift! 

Now castle towers frown over me ; 
Now monkeys leap from tree to tree ; 
Now crags uprise on either side ; 
Now forest jungles billow wide; 
And ever do the cries prevail 
Of those who set or furl the sail. 

But by and by, my journeys from, 

Into the quiet port I come ; 

Then, like a hardy sailor-man, 

I eat of dinner all I can ; 

And when the night grows dark and deep, 

I sail across the seas of sleep. 



24 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



I 



SONG IN SUMMER 

love all of out-of-doors ; 
Roofs of trees and meadow-floors, 
Covered from a richer loom 
Than our very finest room, — 
Green the gay spring fairies spun, 
Gold bright-woven in the sun ! 

I love all of out-of-doors ; 
Music that the robin pours. 
And the wren-talk, and the low 
Warble of the vireo, 
And the " spink-a-chink-a-chink " 
Of the merry bobolink ! 

Then I love the brook, and love 
Cloud-ships floating far above ; 
Love the gentle rain-song that 
On the pane sounds "pit-a-pat ; " 
Love the lion wind that roars ; 
Love iust all of out-of-doors ! 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



THE FAIRY PREACHER 



I 



HEARD wind-elves in frolic pass 
As down the orchard path I strode, 

And saw, amid the swaying grass, 
The pnlpit of the preacher toad. 

Alas, I never set my tread 

Within these aisles at dusk or dawn, 
Hat that I found the preacher fled, 

And all the congregation gone ! 

Yet some day at the service-time 
I '11 catch the fairy pulpiteer; 

Then how the cricket-choir will chime! 
And what a sermon I shall hear! 



26 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



THROUGH THE GATES OF DROWSIE-LAND 



o 



hrough the gates of Drowsie-Land 
Let us wander hand in hand. 
Where the flowers of slumber blow, — 
Poppies in a scarlet row. 

In the meadows there will be 
Bo t ys and girls for company, 
And great streams to sail upon 
That go winding on and on. 

There each star will have a stair 
Just like houses everywhere, 
And I '11 tell you what I '11 do — 
Clamber up along with you . 

When we've seen how moon-flowers grow, 
And why stars keep twinkling so, 
Back we '11 come as each prefers ;— 
I '11 slide down the banisters ! 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 27 



I 



THE CASTLE-BOY 

N Spain Papa says castles stand 

On every hill-top in the land ; 

I do not know where Spain may be, 

Except that it 's across the sea; 

Hut sometimes when in bed I lie, 

And not a star is in the sky, 

I wish, while "patter" falls the rain, 

1 were a castle-boy in Spain. 

Oh. 1 'd have every kind of toy 
If I were bat a castle-boy ! 
I'd have a bicycle and gun, 
A pony that could swiftly run, 
A pretty boat to sail or row, 
And if, in winter-time, the snow 
Should fall, I 'd have the finest sled, 
And it should be all painted red. 

I 'd play and play the whole day through, 

And have no work at all to do ; 

I 'd have the nicest things to eat, 

And love to give my friends a treat ; 

I 'd like Papa be, if I could, 

For he is always kind and good ; 

I 'd never cry, I 'd not complain, 

Were I a castle-boy in Spain. 



28 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 

WHISPERERS 

Whenever I go up or down 
'Along the roadway into town, 
I hear a busy whispering there 
Among the trees high up in air. 

It 's clear to one who 's not a fool 
That trees have never been at school ; 
And if you ask me why I know — 
It is because they whisper so ! 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 29 



© 



THE KITE 

hen the wind is high 
In the heart of night. 

Then I love to lie 
Dreaming of my kite. 

Very well I know 
Like an airy bark 

It would joj to go 
Up across the dark. 

It would miss the sun 
With its golden bars, 

But it would have fun 
Playing with the stars! 



30 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



THE CARPENTER-BIRD 

here is a cunning carpenter who 's busy in our tree, 
Who 's making him a house to hold his tiny family, 
Who 's finishing it up for them all tidy and all trim. 
Hark ! Don't you hear his hammer on the old dead 
limb ? 

He must be much in earnest, for he works with such 

a will ; 
I doubt if any carpenter can show a greater skill, 
Or toil with blither cheer until the day grows dim, 
With the " tap, tap," of his hammer on the old dead 

limb ! 

Oh, can you not imagine how his heart with pride 

will stir 
When he gives a building lesson to each little 

carpenter ! 
I know it is this thought that seems to bubble 

and to brim 
Whene'er I hear his hammer on the old dead limb ! 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 31 



© 



WILLIE I-WONT-PLAY 

ilful Willie I- Wont-Play 
Always wants to have his way ; 
With him it is I or me 
Whatso'er the sport may be, 
Prisoners-Goal or Pull- Away, — 
Wilful Willie I-Wont-Play. 

If another faster run. 
Though the game be just begun, 
Then he '11 pout and sulk and scowl. 
Gloomy as a day-caught owl. 
Spoil the whole glad holiday, — 
Wilful Willie I-AVont-Play. 

Where's the boy would be like him. 

Stout of arm and strong of limb, 

Hearty as a sailor, yet 

Ever in a selfish pet ? 

Shame upon his head, 1 say,— 

Wilful Willie I-Wont-Plav/ 



32 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



o 



THE SWING 

ut in the yard, beneath the trees, 
Where blithely blows the autumn breeze, 
And where betwixt the leaves on high 
There glimmer little strips of sky, 
My sturdy swing is hung, and there 
I make swift voyages far in air. 

Now up and down I gaily go 

Upon my journeys to and fro. 

Whene'er I rise, upon my sight 

Dawn meadows bathed in golden light ; 

Whene'er I dip, my eye perceives 

A rustling bower of yellowing leaves. 

The birds around me chirp and sing 
As merrily I swing and swing ; 
But soon the birds will all be gone, 
And snow will lie along the lawn, 
So if I tread, my steps will show 
Like Crusoe's Friday's long ago. 

When winter winds in chorus call, 

I do not use my swing at all, 

But patiently I try to w r ait- 

Until returning robins mate ; 

And when they cry to greet the spring, 

Oh, how I join them from my swing! 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYMF 33 



THE LAND OF LAY-ME-DOWN 



© 



hen the sun's bright eye is hid 
Underneath its shadow-lid. 
And the pixy people pass 
To and fro upon the grass, 
Goes each little child in town 
To the Land of Lay-Me-Down. 

Very lovely is it there 

In the peaceful purple air ; 

There are softly singing streams, 

And the fields are sown with dreams, - 

One for every child in town 

In the Land of Lay-Me-Down. 

All the livelong night they keep 
Holiday with playmate Sleep, 
Till again the sun's bright eye 
Opens in the morning sky, 
Then comes back each child in town 
From the Land of Lay-Me-Down. 



34 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



THE BONFIRE 

ometimes, if I 've been very good, 

I may go out to play 
When twilight hides the distant wood 

And dims the orchard way. 

Then, at my rousing rally call, 
Come Arthur, Frank, and Phil ; 

And toward the garden dash we all 
Swift down the grassy hill. 

A store from everj^ hollow hook 

Our basket big receives, 
And in the corner by the brook 

We pile the fallen leaves. 

And then, when we have heaped them high 

To meet our hearts' desire, 
We kindle them with merry cry 

And dance around the fire. 

The little stars look down and blink 

To see such sights again ; 
I 'm very sure they all must think 

That we are Indian men.' 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYMK 35 



X 



ROBIN 

f I were Robin, I just know, 
I'd not stand there and shiver so, 
I'd spread my wings and soar on high, 
And southward would I swiftly fly ; 
For in the happy south, I'm told. 
There 's neither snow nor bitter cold. 

There would I find a spreading tree, 
And, oh, how merry I would be! 
What cheery songs I would repeat, 
And what delicious fruits I 'd eat ! 
See! Robin's off. Perhaps he heard. 
How nice it is to be a bird ! 



36 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



O 



THE SLED 

n Christmas morning near my bed 
I found the very nicest sled. 
Good Santa Claus ! how did he know 
It was the thing I wanted so ? 

Now every day when school is out, 
And all the boys, with laugh and shout, 
Go racing home, I scamper, too, 
And get my sled so bright and new. 

We climb the hill, we push, we start, 
And then like arrows downward dart ; 
Nor do we pause until we gain 
The middle of the snowy plain. 

Again and yet again we climb, 
With happy ardor every time ; 
And, if into a drift we run, 
We count it all the greater fun. 

When evening comes and lights are lit, 
Beside the cheery fire I sit, 
And think, when I go up to bed, 
I 'd like to take along my sled. 



© 



A BOY ? S BOOK OF RHYME 37 

THE SNOW-FORT 

eyond the garden and the rill 
We race to reach the orchard hill ; 
There, in the wintry sunlight clear, 
A mighty fort we swiftly rear ; 
We make the ramparts thick and stout 
To keep the furious foemen out, 
And plant upon the highest wall 
A banner proudly over all. 

To arms ! — the volleys whistle round, 
Yet bravely do we stand our ground ; 
And backward in defeat at last 
The army of the foe is cast. 
Again they charge on us, and now 
They rush across the white hill's brow, 
AVhile we, alas, are put to flight 
For lack of arms wherewith to fight ! 

And thus our mimic wars we wage, 

And many enemies engage ; 

We conquer now, and now we fly, 

And ever shout our battle-cry. 

When comes the evening, chill and damp, 

We seek the warm and sheltered camp, 

And through the night, in visions, we 

March on and on to victory. 



38 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



© 



THE SNOW-MAN 

hile showed the moon her silver cup, 
Out of the south the wind blew up ; 
The prisoned brooklet heard the stir, 
And with the dawn the woodpecker 
Sent all the orchard arches through 
His unexpected rat-tat-too, 
And pale icicles, every one, 
Shed tears because they saw the sun. 

When I went out-of-doors to play 

With Jack — for it was holiday — 

I saw our cousin Ned, who ran 

And called to us, " Let 's build a man ! " 

So near the birch-tree, white and slim, 

We trod a big, round place for him, 

And rolled great puffy snowballs that 

Would make him very tall and fat. 

We got fresh snow, and soft and white, 

To put his joints together right ; 

Some shiny bits of coal, and round, 

To fix a buttoned coat we found ; 

Potatoes were his mouth and eyes, 

Astonishing in shape and size ; 

A rosy apple was his nose, 

And last, to crown his head, we chose 

A barrel-hoop, all set about 

With turkey feathers, stiff and stout. 

And then we shouted, every one, 
Hurrah I hurrah 1 he 's done ! he 'b done ! " 



s 



A BOYS BOOK OF RHYME 39 

THE SNOW-HOUSE 

ll yesterday it snowed and snowed, 

And all last night, until the road 

Was whiter than the downy spread 

Upon my cozy trundle-bed. 

And once, before the daylight broke, 

When from the land of dreams I woke, 

I heard the poor wind whine and moan 

Like Carlo when he's left alone. 

Then high above the fleecy plain 

The red sun sprang, and shook his mane. 

And every window seemed like cake 

The busy city bakers make. 

So I got all my warm wraps out, 

And buttoned tight my roundabout, 

And found my shovel in the shed, 

And shouted loud and long to Ned y 

Until he came with answering cries. 

All bundled to the very eyes ; 

Then down the orchard path we ran, 

And Ned was rear and I was van. 

With doleful wail the wind still blew, 
And, oh, what drifts Ave floundered through ! 
The apples clinging to the bough 
Were like big bursting puff-balls now ; 



40 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 

The brook was smothered ; not a note 
Came gurgling from its merry throat, 
And only cheery chickadee 
Sang welcome from the cherry-tree. 
Beside the fence was piled the snow 
As high as pony's back, I know ; 
And there we cleared a space before 
A humpy drift, and made a door, 
And hallway wide to light the gloom, 
And then a great round sitting-room, 
Whose roof was set with shining things 
That looked as bright as Mama's rings. 
We had to creep along the hall, 
But didn't have to here at all ; 
And snug within our house of snow 
We played that we were Esquimaux. 



A BUY'S BOOK OF RHYME 41 



g 



VACATION-TIME 

ll, the world is set to rhyme 
Now it is vacation-time. 
And a swelling flood of joy 
Brims the heart of every boy. 
No more rote and no more rule. 
No more staying after school 
When the dreamy brain forgets 
Tiresome tasks the master sets : 
Nothing but to play and play 
Through an endless holiday. 

Morn or afternoon, may all 
Swing the bat and catch the ball ; 
Nimble-footed, race and run 
Through the meadows in the sun, 
Chasing winged scraps of light. 
Butterflies in darting flight ; 
Or where willows lean and look 
Down at others in the brook, 
Frolic loud the stream within, 
Every arm a splashing fin. 

Where the thorny thickets bar. 
There the sweetest berries are ; 
Where the shady banks make dim 
Pebbly pools, the shy trout swim ; 
Where the boughs are mossiest. 
Builds the humming-bird a nest : — 



42 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



These are haunts the rover seeks, 
Touch of tan upon his cheeks, 
And within his heart the joy 
Known to no one but a boy. 

All the world is set to rhyme 
Now it is vacation-time ! 



A BOYS BOOK OF RHYME 43 



o 



THE CROW 

ho! oho! Sir Sable-Plume, 
With your glossy coat. 
And your grating note. 
And your darkly mysterious air of gloom ; 
Now that the north winds keenly blow, 
And the valleys and hills are white with snow, 
Why don't you wing- 
To the land of spring, 
Away to the south, away. away. 
From the cold and the ice and the wintry day ? 

To a bird of brain 

It ought to be plain 

That it must be pleasanter far to caw 

Where the warm sun shines 

On the blossoming vines, 

By the grassy banks of the Chickasaw, 

Than here from the tops of the chilly pines. 

And oh , to think of the orange-trees, 

And the palms of the isles of the Caribbees ! 

And then how nice 

To breathe the spice 

That floats on every waft of the breeze I 

Never a wind to chill you through. 

And make you shiver and quiver and shake, 

But skies of blue. 

And silver dew, 

And fruits as sweet as a frosted cake. 

You prefer to stay ! 

Is that what you say ? 

Well, crows and boys like to have their way. 



44 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



n 



A SPRING MEETING 

(robin to wren) 

ullo, Bob Wren ! 

Are you back again ? 
Glad to see you so well and so merry ; 
Fear we 're here 
Rather early this year ! 
Dear, but I wish I 'd a bite of a cherry ! 
Just ripe in the South, 
Melt in your mouth. 
Weren't you sorry to leave the sunny 
Land of bloom, and of bees and honey? 

By and by here 't will be bright and jolly 

With bud and blossom, but somehow now 

The atmosphere seems melancholy, 

For there 's not a leaf on a single bough ; 

And the wind, oh, how it makes you shiver, 

And long for the balmy air that blows 

The reeds that quiver 

Above some river 

That warm in Floridian sunlight flows ! 

Have you any new songs to sing this season ? 

And do you know where you are going to stop? 

We 've taken rooms in the very top 

Of "The Maple" — prices quite within reason. 

You 've a flat near by that you 've leased till fall ? 

How nice ! Then surely you '11 come and call. 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 45 



O 



THE LITTLE EGYPTIAN BOY 

he little Egyptian boy 

Has dusky cheeks of brown ; 

He wears a long, long gown, 

And a funny cap on his head. 

That is tasselled and round and red ; 

You hardly would suppose 

That his shoes could pinch his toes, 

For they "re anything but small, 

And they have no heels at all. 

He must be full of fun, 

And his legs — how they can run ! 

The little Egyptian boy 

Has never seen the snow ; 

Where the palms and fig-trees grow 

It is summer the whole year through, 

And the sky is blue — so blue ! 

A donkey is the toy 

Of the little Egyptian boy. 

And he often goes to ride 

Where the clover-fields reach wide, 

And he loves to race and shout 

And frolic and romp about. 

The little Egyptian boy 
Sings queer, wild songs, and plays 
In the very strangest ways ; 
And he looks so grave and wise 
Out of his big, black eyes ! 



46 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 

But he does not dare to stray 
Very far from his home away, 
For he 'd come to the river Nile, 
And a hungry crocodile 
Would quickly go "snap ! snap ! " 
Oh, wouldn't that be a sorry hap 
For the little Egyptian boy ! 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 47 



© 



BOBOLINK 

OBOLINK — 

He is here ! 
Spink-a-chink ! 

Hark, how clear 
Drops the note 
From his throat, 
Where h^ sways 
On the sprays 
Of the wheat 
In the heat ! 

Bobolink. 

Spink-a-chink ! 

Bobolink 

Is a beau. 
See him prink ! 

Watch him go 
Through the air 
To his fair! 
Hear him sing- 
On the wing — 
Sing his best 
O 'er her nest ! 
"Bobolink, 
Spink-a-chink I 



48 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 

Bobolink, 
Linger long' ! 

There \s a kink 
In your song 

Like the joy 

Of a boy 

Left to run 

In the sun — 

Left to play 

All the day. 
Bobolink, 
Spink-a-chink I 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 49 



G 



THE PUSSY-CAT BIRD 

0-day when the sun shone just after the shower, 
A song- bubbled up from the lilac-tree bower 
That changed of a sudden to quavers so queer, 
For a moment I thought something wrong in my ear. 
Then I called little Dempster, and asked if he heard. 
"Oh. yes!" he replied, "it's the pussy-cat bird!'" 

The pussy-ca1 bird has the blackest of bills, 
With which she makes all of her trebles and trills; 
She can mimic a robin, or sing- like a wren, 
And I truly believe she can cluck like a hen ; 
And sometimes you dream that her song is a word, 
Then quickly again — she's a pussy-cat bird ! 

The pussy-cat bird wears a gown like a nun, 

But she 's chirk as a squirrel, and chock-full of fun. 

She lives in a house upon Evergreen Lane, — 

A snug little house, although modest and plain ; 

And never a puss that was happier purred 

Than the feathered and winged little pussy-catbird. 



50 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



o 



MADAM ROBIN'S AFTERNOON TEA 

ne afternoon 

In the heart of June, 

The very brightest, bluest weather, 

Some of the song-birds came together. 

They met at Madam Robin's, you see, 

In the top of a breezy maple-tree, 

For she'd asked them in to an "early tea." 

All were dressed 

In their very best ; 

Mr. Jay wore an azure vest ; 

Mistress Sparrow and Lady Wren, 

The one in brown and the one in yellow, 

Fluttered merrily in, and then 

Came Sir Bobolink— jolly fellow ! 

Timid Miss Phoebe and pert Miss Thrush 

Followed Lord Oriole, spick and sprightly ; 

Next the Finches with rustle and rush, 

And Parson Blackbird beaming brightly. 

And there were others, a score 

Or more, 

All in the very merriest mood, too ; 

And there rose such a patter,- 

And clatter, and chatter, 
That those not invited 
Were soon quite affrighted, 

For nobody knew what on earth was the matter, 

Or what such a babel of talk could allude to. 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 51 

But nothing alarming' 

Heard those overhead, so 
They found it quite charming, 
And each of them said so ; 
For they "d all been south, and they hadn't met 
Since the autumn-time with its chill and wet. 

So this was all that the babel meant : 
They were asking each other with rapt intent, 
" Where and how was your winter spent ? " 



52 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



o 



THE RAG-MAN 

ut of the distance far and faint, 
Up from the vale like a plover's plaint, 
Nearing slowly until it seems 
To die away like a call in dreams, 
Swelling again to leap with a bound 
To a whimsical crest like a wave of sound, 
Now a quaver and now a quirk, 
Now a twist like a vocal smirk, 
Comes the cry — 
' ' Rags I O—h, rags I Any rags to buy ? ' ' 



See him driving along the road, 
Singing and shouting above his load ! 
A tawny, grizzly , odd little elf, 
Just a bundle of rags himself ; 
With eyes that sparkle under his lashes 
Like living coals in the whitened ashes ; 
Eager, alert, with his word of cheer 
For his rag-like horse of the shaggy ear ; 

And still the cry — 
' Rags ! O—h, rags ! Any rags to buy ? ' ' 

On and on through the sun and rain, 
Lifting ever his sole refrain, 
Up and over the hills and down, 
Courting the country-side and town, 
Always chirk as a merry grig- 
Tuning under a lilac twig, 
Always free as the wind to roam, 
The whole wide sweep of the land his home ; 

And ever the cry — 
' Rags I O — h, rags ! Any rags to buy?" 



A BOYS BOOK OF RHYME 53 



H 



THE BOLDIE DOG 

patter of feet at the door, and hark. 
The blithest, briskest, breeziest bark! 
A head alert like a grenadier 
When a sound suspicious greets his ea r : 
A tail that swings like a soldier's sword 
When he charges down on a hostile horde ; 
Fleet as a faun over brake and bog. 
That's the way with the Boldie Dog! 

Sinewy, supple, soft, and sleek. 
With fur as smooth as a maiden's cheek. 
And great, deep, brooding eyes that show 
How the happy dog-dreams come and go ; 
In the gladdest, maddest plunge and play 
He races and chases the livelong day. 
Then lies at night like a very log. 
That 's the way with the Boldie Dog ! 

He likes to rest his head on your hand 
With a look that says — ,k You understand ; " 
Or he loves to lead with bound and leap 
Through forest paths where the ferns are deep ; 
Always ready and ever true, — 
A friend to the end whate'er you do ; 
Frisk as a grig and chirk as a frog, 
That 's the way with the Boldie Dog ! 



54 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



tit 



POM-POM-PTJLLAWAY 

hen the snow 's all gone, 
And the robin 's on the lawn, 
And the maple-buds swell, 
And we hate the school bell, 
O how we love to play 
Pom-pom-pullaway ! 

Out in the lot we go, 
Range in a long row. 
All the boys but one ; 
Then is the sport begun, 
For that one will say, — 
;i Pom-pom-pullaway ! " 

Now there 's a rush, now 
Helter-skelter, anyhow, 
Push, plunge, run, race, 
For the other goal-place ; 
Who "s caught must say, — 
" Pom-pom-pullaway ! " 



By and by there's no one 
Left in the line to run ; 
First caught — he's " i"t, ' ' 
Doesn 't care one bit 
'Cause he must stand and say,- 
" Pom-pom-pullaway ! " 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 

Then, when the sun's low, 
Homeward we all go, — 
Eat, and soon oft* to bed. 
Each boy a sleepy-head. 
My, but it 's fun to play 
Pom-pom-puliaway ! 



56 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



n 



A BOYS SONG IN SPRING 

urrah, for the snow is over, 
And the merry brook is free ! 

We '11 soon sip sweets from the clover 
Along with the bumble-bee. 

We '11 track the soaring' swallow 
As he eddies above the trees, 

And follow him and follow, 

And dream of the things he sees. 

We '11 watch the insects springing 
Till they seem like roguish elves, 

And hark to the brown thrush singing- 
Till we want to sing ourselves. 

Hurrah, for the snow is over! 

And Winter, the poor old soul, 
Has gone to play the rover 

On the meadows of the pole. 



D 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 57 

THE SQUIRREL 

ow that russet leaves are tosse< 1 
In the mornings keen with frost, 
Now that nuts have burst the burr — 
Chir-r-r! (liir-r-r! 

You may hear it, 

Hark, how clear it 

Rises from the elm and fir ! 

'Tis the cheery squirrel's call, 
Cold-defying voice of fall ; 
List the merry chatterer ! 

( liir-r-r ! Ch ir-r-r ! 

He "s not sober, 

Though October 

Is among the days that were. 



58 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



FAIRY FOOD 

aid my blue-eyed cousin John, 
" What do fairies live upon ? " 
And he looked in eager wise 
At me with his bright young eyes. 

"Every morning-time, " I said, 
" They bake tiny loaves of bread ; 

Cricket -steaks they often eat ; 

And their drink is honey sweet 

From the honeysuckle bell, 

Or the crimson clover-cell ; 

They have berry pie and tart 

Flavored with a rose's heart ; 

And a very favorite thing 

Is a slice of beetle's wing." 

" Pooh, " cried John, "no wonder that 
Fairies are not biff or fat ! " 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 59 



n 



THE FAIRY BALL 

ittle men and maidens all, 
Welcome to onr fairy ball ! 
First upon the velvet green 
You must bow before our queen — 
Gracious Mab, who loves to greet 
Every youth and maiden sweet; 
Then within the dance you may 
Foot it with each nimble fay. 
Puck the frolic leader is 
Of the whirling gaieties ; 
Watch him hop and skip and vault, 
Airy as a somersault, 
Urging Limp and Lazy on, 
Pulling poor old Sleepy-John 
Through a wild and antic round, 
Capering from mound to mound ! 
Tiny Mistress Happy-Face 
Dances with the greatest grace ; 
You shall tread the green with her ; 
You shall dance with Burly-Burr ; 
For the others there will be 
Trip and Slip and Brownie-Lea. 
How the catching music goes, 
Thrilling to the very toes ! 
Eager feet to beat begin, 
And, now see! the dancers spin 
In and out and out and in. 

Little men and maidens all, 
Welcome to our fairv ball ! 



60 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



o 



A RAIN SONG 

on't you love to lie and listen, 

Listen to the rain, 
With its little patter, patter, 
And its tiny clatter, clatter, 
And its silvery spatter, spatter, 

On the roof and on the pane ? 

Yes, I love to lie and listen. 

Listen to the rain. 
It's the fairies — Pert and Plucky. 
Nip and Nimble-toes and Lucky, 
Trip and Thimble-nose and Tucky - 

On the roof and on the pane ! 

That's my dream the while I listen, 

Listen to the rain. 
I can see them running races, 
I can watch their laughing faces 
At their gleeful games and graces. 

On the roof and on the pane ! 



o 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 61 

GOSSIPS 

eep in the woodland you will hear, 
If you but lend attentive ear, 
A murmurous talk from time to time, 
And all the words will run to rhyme. 
By light of sun and light of star, 
The wind and trees the gossips are ; 
In whispers to the questioning trees 
The wandering wind tells all he sees, 
For he can roam and roam and roam, 
While all the trees must stay at home. 



62 A -BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 






THE SHEEP IN THE SKY 

cross the sky, as white as snow, 
See how the flocks of cloud-sheep go ! 
Who is it drives them ? Whither are 
They bent that race so fast and far ? 

It is the wind who shepherds them ; 
In meads beyond the sky's blue hem 
He pastures them, and there in peace 
He shears and scatters wide their fleece. 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 63 



O 



THE BLUE JAY 

n the leafless bough a-sway, 

What do you say, 

Jay ? 

What is that shrilly note 

That bubbles out of your throat ? 

There, with your head a-tilt, 

What do you lilt? 



"Chink ! cheep ! chink ! 
I think — " 
( This with a blink 

And a sly 
Wink 

Of the eye ) — 
" Winter is far too long ; 
That is my song. " 



64 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



WHY CHERRIES GROW 



w 



hy do cherries grow ? " 
Said I, "Robin red, 
Chirring overhead 
In the gleam and glow,— 
Why do cherries grow? " 



Paused he roguishly 
While he plucked at one 
Flushing in the sun ; 
Then, said he, said he, 
" Cherries grow for me ! " 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 65 



o 



DON 

h, a dear little dog is Don, 

With a dash of family pride! 
As sleek as satin to look upon, 
Frisky and glow- worn-eyed. 
He steps like a drummer-boy 
Perking his head up high, 
And the cup of his pleasure brims to joy 
When Carroll comes with a cry: 
For it 's "Bats / " he says ; " Bats I 
Rats!" he says: 
(Or it's "Cats!" he says). 
That 's 

When you should see Don. 

He will play at hide-and-seek 

With the vim of a brisk north breeze, 
Or he '11 crouch all quiet and meek 

At a touch on the ivory .keys. 
Cuddly and warm and round 

He will lie like a velvet ball. 
But up he '11 leap with a bark and a bound 
At the sound of Carroll's call : 
For it 's "Bats ! " he says ; " Rats I 
Rats I" he says: 
(Or it's "Cats /"he says). 
That's 

When you should see Don. 



66 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



w 



BUTTERFLY 

hither haste you up and down, 
Wanderer in red and brown, 
Gay and graceful, spruce and spry, 
Butterfly, butterfly ? 

Dancing, darting, here and there, 
On what errand do you fare ? 
Tell us what you seek to spy, 
Butterfly, butterfly ! 

Here is beauty, — bud and bloom, 
Golden sunlight and perfume ! 
All for which the heart may sigh, 
Butterfly, butterfly ! 

What ! You will not tarry ? No ? 
Will not tell us where you go ? 
Well, a happy time ! good-by ! 
Butterfly, butterfly ! 



A BOYS BOOK OF RHYME 67 



X 



RAIN 

T'LL Rain ! It 11 rain I 
Says the peacock's shrill refrain, 
Ere the heaven shows for sign 
E'en a single leaden line. 
See, a silvery shudder now 
Runs along the poplar bough ! 
And recurrent ripples pass 
O'er the reaches of the grass. 
Low the swallows circle over 
Rosy fields of scented clover ; 
Willows whiten in the lane— 
It'll min! It'll rain! 

It 11 rain ! It 11 rain ! 
Watch the shifting weather-vane 
Veering from its dreams of drouth 
Toward the veiled and showery south ! 
Now the eye of day is hid 
Underneath a lowering lid. 
And the heaven feels the lash 
Of a goading lightning-flash. 
Peals a bell with soft insistence 
Clearly down the darkening distance, 
And the peacock cries again — 
It 11 rain! It 11 rain! 



68 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



c 



THE TRUMPETER 

an you hear it? Hark, it rings ! 

Airiest of trumpetings ; 

Sounding through the sunny weather. 

Calling winged things together 

To a feast of honey, found 

In deep goblets red and round. 

Belted is the trumpeter, 

And he wears a gallant spur. 

His array is freaked with gold, 

And his buoyant air and bold 

Is his knightly birthright. Oh, 

See him puff his cheeks and blow ! 

What strange trumpeter is he, — 
Do you ask ? The honey-bee ! 
Where the climbing vines embower 
Playing on a trumpet-flower. 



fi 



A BOYS HOOK OF RHYME 69 

IN THE AUGUST TWILIGHT 

rom the hillside wheat-fields brown 
Blithely stride the gleaners down 
Through the laneways where the lowing 
Cattle greet them, homeward going; 
Sinewy muscles, bronze and bare, 
Glints of sunset on their hair 
That the zephyr from the croft 
Touches with its fingers soft ; 
Mellow murmurs from the flashing 
Pebbly runnel, onward dashing; — 

Purple shadows gently falling, 
And. in wa ving tree-tops hid, 
Raucous voices calling, calling, 

-Katydid'/' 

Every grass-blade by the road 
Bends beneath its dusty load ; 
Mullein, dock, and morning-glory. 
All are clad in raiment hoary ; 
In the skies a ghostly moon 
Grows as dies the afternoon ; 
From the marshes far below 
Frogs their deep bass trumpets blow : 
Further than the eye can follow 
Up the azure flits the swallow ; — 

Pur] tie shadows gently falling, 
And, in waving tree-tops hid, 
Strident voices calling, calling, 
"Katydid!" 



70 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



n 



THE WHISTLER 

e came up over the hill 
In the flush of the early morn, 

And he blew his whistle shrill 
Till the blackbirds down in the corn, 

And the robins, all were still. 

And the leaves began to lean, 

And the little blades of grass, 
And the lily garden-queen, 

All eager to see him pass, — 
He of the frolic mien. 

They watched for his back-tossed hair, 

And his peachy lips a-purse, 
And his tan cheeks full and fair, 

As he flung a flute-like verse 
Into every nook of the air. 

But never a trace could they find 
Of his form, though they knew him near, 

And their bright eyes were not blind. 
Y 7 ou will marvel not to hear 

That the w r histler was the wind. 



A BOYS BOOK OF RHYME 71 



©I 



MORNING SONG 

ry globe of dew- 
ike an opal lies 
Underneath the bine 
Over-bending skies ; 
Every little bird 
Drops a silvery word 
As it flies. 

Every happy stream 

Sing's and sings and sings ; 
From the depths of dream 
Every blossom springs ; 
Shows the butterfly, 
As it dances by, 
Golden wings. 

So, away with sleep I 

Duties must be done 
Ere the moments creep 
From us one by one ! 
Only sluggards shirk ; 
We must wake and work 
With the stm ! 



72 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



x 



BROOK SONG 

t trips o'er the pebbles 
In tinkles and trebles 

It slides and it glides in its fetterless glee ; 
It doubles 
And bubbles ; 
It rimples 
And dimples, 
And so it goes racing adown to the sea. 

By lowland and highland, 
By marshland and island, 

Its course from its source is the course of the free; 
It hurries 
And scurries 
Through noonshine 
And moonshine, 

And ever goes singing adown to the sea. 

We cry to it, "Rover, 
Give over ! give over ! " 

No heed in its speed does it pay you or me ; 
But leaping 
Unsleeping 
It dances 
And glances, 

Until it finds rest on the breast of the sea. 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 73 



H 



THRUSB SONG 

ark to the song of the thrush, 

At the fall of the dusk and dew ; 
Piercing- the twilight hush, 
Thrilling it through and through ! 
While the first stars twinkle, twinkle. 
And the little leaves crinkle, crinkle, 
Low as a rill. 

Clear as a bell, 
Down from the hill. 
Up from the dell, 
And all for me and you ! 

List to the song of the thrush 

From the shadows cool and dee]). 
From the heart of the underbrush 
Where the pixy people creep ! 

While the winds grow crisper, crisper. 
And the little leaves whisper, whisper, 
Fine as a flute 

Blown at the morn. 
Soft as a lute 
Or fairy horn, 
A call to the land of sleep ! 



74 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



THE DANCERS 

aussET and ruddy and amber 
The cheeks of the dancers are ; 
So light their feet they could clamber 
The stair way up to a star. 

When you think they are standing steady, 
With never a dream of a swirl, 

They break into boisterous eddy, 
And are off with a whisk and a whirl. 

They meet in a inarch sedately, 
Then change to a trip or a trot ; 

They leap from a minuet stately 
To the swing of a gay gavotte. 

They perk into prim position ; 

They rally, retreat, advance ; 
And the wind is the blithe musician 

That plaj^s for the leaves to dance. 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 75 



WHERE ARE THE FAIRIES GONE 



© 



here are the fairies gone, 
Now that the woods are brown. 

And lace lies over the lawn 
As white as the thistledown ? 



Did they rig them a ruddered bark. 
With sails of the golden leaves, 

And venture upon the dark 
In the cool of the autumn eves ? 

Did they follow the songbird's flight, 

Swiftly winging away 
Out of the northern night 

Into the southern day? 

The queen, the court, and the king,— 

Mab and her Oberon,— 
Will they come again in the spring? 

Where are the fairies gone ? 



76 A BOY'S BOOK OF KHYME 



W 



THE LITTLE SHADOW-FOLK 

pAT time the round moon kindles on windy wintry 

eves, 
And murmurs stir those gossips, the sere old oaken 

leaves, 
A troop of kin from Nowhere go faring to and fro, — 
The nimble little shadow-folk that dance upon the 

snow. 

They glide, they leap, they waver, — they twist, 

they intertwine ; 
They break in tortuous turnings, they join in 

freakish line ; 
Their arms with knots are gnarly, their legs are 

all a-bow, — 
The elfish little shadow-folk that dance upon the 

snow. 

They race across the valley, they fleet along the 

hill, 
And yet we hear no laughter, their frolic is so still ; 
And what their jolly games are, alas, we may not 

know ! — 
The merry little shadow-folk that dance upon the 

snow. 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 77 



Their day-time is our night-time, their night-time 

is our day, 
And they are sound in slumber when we are out at 

play ; 
For when the dawn looks ruddy, swift off to bed 

they go,— 
The sleepy little shadow-folk that dance upon the 

snow. 

LOFC 



78 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



BY THE YULE-LOG 

rhyme, and a light and lithe one, 
That sways like a supple vine ; 

A song, and a bright and blithe one, 
A-flood with the Christmas-shine. 

A catch, and a clear and glad one, 
Like the brook-note in the spring ; 

A stave, and a gay and mad one, 
That shall make the rafters ring. 

Then it 's cheer, my masters merry, 
And cheer, my bonny maids, ! 

Our song 7 s for the holly berry, 
Our kiss for the mistletoe ! 



& 



A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 79 

DOWN IN THE STRAWBERRY BED 

ays in the orchard are screaming - , and hark, 
Down in the pasture the blithe meadow-lark 
Floods all the air with melodious notes ! 
Robins and sparrows are straining their throats. 

" Dorothy ! Dorothy ! "—out of the hall 
Echoes the sound of the musical call ; 
Song birds are silent a moment, then sweet, 

" Dorothy ! " all of them seem to repeat. 

Where is the truant? No answer is heard, 
Save the clear trill of each jubilant bird ; 
Dawn-damask roses have naught to unfold, 
Sweet with the dew and the morning's bright gold. 

" Dorothy ! Dorothy ! " — still no reply, 
None from the arbor or hedgerow anigh ; 
None from the orchard where grasses are deep, 

4i Dorothy ! " — surely she must be asleep ! 

Rover has seen her ; his eyes never fail ; 

Watch how he sabres the air with his tail! 

Follow him ! follow him ! Where has he gone? 

Out toward the garden and over the lawn. 
" Dorothy ! Dorothy ! " —plaintive and low, 

Up from the paths where the hollyhocks grow, 

Comes the soft voice with a tremor of dread, 
" Dorofy's down in V stwawbewj bed! " 



80 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 

Curls in a tangle and frock all awry, 
Bonnet, a beam from the gold in the sky, 
Eyes with a sparkle of mirth brimming o'er, 
Lap filled with ruby fruit red to the core. 
Dorothy ! Dorothy ! rogue that thou art ! 
Who at thee, sweet one, to scold has a heart ? 
Apron and fingers and cheeks stained with red, 
Dorothy down in the strawberry bed ! 



A BOYS BOOK OF RHYME 81 



LADY HOLLYHOCK 

lender Lady Hollyhock. 
In your green and crimson frock, 
Many are your lovers gay 
Dancing down the garden way. 
But beware how you believe 
What the merry gallants say, 
Lest the fickle ones deceive ! 

Blithe Sir Butterfly may hover, 
Honey-Bee his heart declare, 

Humming-Bird his love discover, 
One and all their fealty swear, — 
Every ready vow 's a snare ! 

Blithe Sir Butterfly makes bold 
To entreat the Marigold ; 
And with ardor Honey-Bee 
Sues the delicate Sweet-Pea ; 
While the truant Humming-Bird 
Many a bloom woos warily 
With his false but winning w r ord. 

So, my slender little lady, 
By their favors be not won ! 

But in quiet cool and shady, 
Looking out upon the sun, 
Dwell contented like a nun. 



82 A BOY'S BOOK OF RHYME 



o 



FLOWERS OF SLEEP 

ut of the starry glooms, 

From the vague and the vast and the deep, 
A spirit came with the blooms 

Of the beautiful Garden of Sleep. 

And when the glass of the Day 
Had numbered its golden sands. 

At rest a little maid lay 
With a flower of Sleep in her hands. 



!AR 6 1907 



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